Sincerely Me
by randomgirloutthere110
Summary: A letter from the past reminded Molly of how bad of shape she was in. On the journey to get to her, it landed in someone else's hands, Percy, her father. Will her 13 year-old self help cover up all the scars, or just cut her deeper? T, I'm paranoid.


**This is my first Molly Weasley II story. I worked really hard on this, and I feel like it is a keeper. **

**I do not own Harry Potter sadly. **

**I wrote this for a challenge from ReillyJade called '_A Letter From My Hogwarts Days' _**

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><p>Short, firm knocks rang in my ears. I sighed, but didn't dare to look up from the work on my desk. It had been piling up for days now, since I had not been able to attend my shifts. I had no idea how Dad did it. How could he look at himself in the mirror knowing that his father could be lying on his deathbed, and not even be there for him. Everyone else in the family was there, even some I didn't know. Every redheaded sibling, except Dad, was leached on to his arm praying that he'd wake up from his coma. Dad felt that if he went to go see Granddad that he would be wasting a day that he could be accomplishing something at work. Mum had sent me to try to convince him to see Granddad, and I nodded my head and went, though I knew how the outcome would be.<p>

"Come on in..." I calmly hollered without taking my eyes off the paperwork I was checking.

Semi-heavy footsteps entered my office, and a cough rang out. I almost despised that cough.

I looked up with a small, weary smile on my face, and tucked a piece of my redhair, which had fallen out of my bun, behind my ear.

"What seems to be the problem Dad?" I asked curiously. I knew something was wrong, or he wouldn't have been standing in my office in the first place. He believed that socializing when working was the biggest no in the handbooks. No messaging, no flooing, no letters, no chatting. Nothing. No communications. Working under Dad's department, he seemed to enjoy criticizing me for my mistakes, which I couldn't avoid.

His stretched his arm out to me, with a detailed frown on his face. No wonder he had so many wrinkles, he never quit frowning. I wondered if he could even smile. There happened to be a piece of faded parchment in his hand, and he seemed eager to give it away to me. I gave him a confused look, before reaching my hand out to retrieve the parchment. As I clasped my fingers around it, I noticed the material seemed worn, having a bit of a soft touch to it, almost as though it was years old. Once I examined the parchment better, I noticed it was an enveloped, an envelope dressed to me. I gasped, and dropped the envelope on my desk. I began shaking my head, preparing myself for the lecture. I could see the disappointed in Dad's eyes, and I believed that was what hurt me the most. It was like a knife was jabbed into my heart, and I was left to bleed.

"Dad..." I stuttered, "I have no idea who that letter is from. I have told all my friends, and the family knows, that there is no tolerance for socializing here. It is considered slacking, and slackers get no where, and people who go no where get fired." I repeated Dad's annual lecture word for word. "Please, Dad believe me. I have no idea who it's from..." I begged, after I realized he wasn't going to speak.

His mouth twitched a bit at the sound of my pleading, and he shook his head. "Molly, calm down, I understand."

"But Dad-" I stopped. Did he say he understood? Dad never said that unless it was about something logical and highly unneeded usually. I opened my mouth to reply, but my tongue seemed to fall paralyzed. I sat up straighter, and relaxed back into my seat. There was something-strange going on with Dad.

Dad took the seat across from me, and nodded at the letter on my desk, "That Molly is not from one of your friends, but a letter to yourself from you... It's your handwriting from you were little."

I shoot him a puzzled look, and studied the handwriting on the envelope. It did seem oddly familiar. I flipped it over in my hands, and noticed that someone had all ready did the job of opening it for me. I looked up at Dad and caught eye contact.

"You opened this!" I accused, "Do you open every letter I get for here?"

Dad shook his head slowly, "No, I was only curious about why you were receiving a letter from yourself... You had terrible handwriting when you were younger, by the way."

I rolled my eyes, "Well, thank you for the criticism." I let out a deep sigh, "Whatever, I bet you didn't even know I wrote it until you read it." I took in a deep breath, and counted to ten, before calming myself down some. "Look, thank you for bringing it to me, at least."

Dad nodded, then nervously asked, "You going to read it?"

This had to be some sort of a test. I shook my head, and laid the paper down into a drawer. "Nope, I am way behind on the paperwork you gave me to finish. I'll read it later."

Dad's eyes grew wide, "No, read it now Molly Anne."

My jaw dropped. I got up out of my seat, and walked over to him. I gave him a small smile, and asked, "Are you feeling well? You aren't acting like yourself. Should I floo Mum and tell her?"

He shook his head slowly, "No, all you shall do is go over to your desk and read that letter."

I raised an eyebrow at him, and stopped to think things over. Either something was extremely wrong, or Dad was really playing into his tests. He was really trying to get me to fall for his trick, so then he could laugh at me and tell me how stupid and foolish I was. That had to be what was happening. Nothing was wrong, just pretend. I couldn't control the smile that spread on my face, once I figured out the truth. I collapsed a hand on Dad's arm, and patted it, before walking back over to me desk.

"Dad... Oh, Dad..." I chuckled to myself. "You can't fool me... I see that this is all just another one of your tests." I sat down, and smiled at him, "But you see, I shall not be falling for this one, for I caught you in the act. Now please, will you let to be to my work." I said, as I gestured to the door.

Dad inhaled quickly before standing up, and looking me straight in the eyes. "Molly, look at me! Damn it." His voice was strained, and his eye had this abnormal twitch to it.

I just stared up at him, with wide eyes, and mouth open. He never cursed, never. What was going on?

He pointed a finger at him, and commanded, "You will, young lady, open up that bloody letter and read it, understood?"

I wasn't positive what to do next. Should I go get Uncle Harry in the Auror Apartment to check to see if someone had used the Imperius Curse on him. He wasn't himself, and frankly, I was a tad terrified. Though, if I were to ran, and he was cursed, then I figured it would end up worse.

I gulped, and picked up the letter with trembling hands_._

_12 October 2019_

_Dear Molly, or well, me- older me,_

_Professor McGonagall has started a new tradition at Hogwarts. She said that all third years must write a letter to themselves ten years from now. Professor has told us that for some odd reason thirteen years is the hardest year on students; she doesn't understand why, but it is. She believes that if we were to write a letter to ourselves then we can spill our deepest darkest secrets to help us cope along the way. I feel as though she has gone nuts, but I will cooperate and do the assignment anyway. If I would to act out, Dad would throw a fit. So, shall I confess all my tiny secrets and let you deal with them years on down the road, or shall I shut up and make things brief. Many students around me have gone with the brief one, but I want to make sure I get a couple confessions out before I reach a close..._

_Confession 1: I have no strength left or feeling to go on. I feel numb, and twisted like I am a puppet of my Dad's mind. I wish to be a Quidditch player, flying high in the sky with no fear, but Dad disapproves, so I carry on trying to here two words fall from his lips. 'I'm proud...' Are they that hard to pronounce? I mean, really, it's two syllables. I work so hard to be recognized, but I feel all my work will never get me anywhere. I will never be good enough for him. I will never be the prefect daughter he dreams of, and I will forever feel as a failure. Perhaps, now, that it is ten years later, I may not feel this way. I hope I don't feel this way. I honestly pray that I am still alive. One slip of poison, small amount of suffering, would equal the best death. It would happen slow enough, so I know what was going on, but fast enough to not leave behind to much blood. Ha, this note is beginning to sound like a suicide letter to myself. Is it?_

_Confession 2: I've always hated acting. Mum would sign me up for muggle plays, and I hated every moment of it. I enjoy being myself, being Molly Anne Weasley, so why then do I find myself acting everyday. James has mentioned how I am a true prat for the way I act. I'm a tattletale, no fun, boring, perfect student, fake, little, foolish girl. I need to become what Dad wants, I need to achieve greatness in Dad's eyes. I feel so horrible, as I slowly watch myself become the number one hated cousin. Will I end up disowning my family as well? How far will I really go? I'm scared of myself... The voices in my head all tell me different things. Not saying I've became insane, but I mean, Mum, Lucy, Grandmum, Granddad, Professors, James, Fred, Teddy, Victoire, well you get the picture, plus Dad, are all in my head. Is it possible that they are controlling me? If so, do you have the way to make them stop?_

_Confession 3: People are mean. I have never heard of more mean people than the girls in my dormitory. They all know how Dad was a disgusting little git, and assume I am the same. They taunt and laugh at me. There isn't a day where I do not find an indescribable note in one of my textbooks... They like leaving my messages to remind me that no one cares for me. The poor part is that they have got into my brain so much, saying how I am always talking about myself, I am a bit annoyed with myself for sounding like a sob story while writing this. I have the greatest family, a beautiful home, a wonderful Mum, and a younger sister, who is better than I in every way do, and I can still point out all the negative things in my life and let them control me. It's almost disgustingly pitiful... Don't you think?_

_Confession 4: There is one person on the planet that I will never understand, nor do I want to, and I don't mean that in a bad way. I love my sister, Lucy, so much, but Dad treats us completely different. Why does he let her be her bubbly self, and destroy me a part the next second? I thrive to be like her, I'd kill for her life. My biggest secret of all time comes in her name. On my left wrist is her name. It's not too big, but took me forever to cut without harming myself to severely. And those spilt seconds where the blade is greeting my warm skin, I feel more alive than I do on a daily basis. I'm not numb, nor do I want to be anyone else. I don't feel the need to be Lucy; I don't care what dad thinks. I am just me, Molly Anne Weasley. Then, the battle of pain and the sight of blood come and everything I mentioned in the last sentence vanishes; poof. I am left cold, alone, and hurt. Vulnerable, really. And then the truth awakens inside of me, and it hits hard. I will never be perfect. I will never achieve what I want. I will forever loose at what I do. And I will never, ever in my wildest dream make Dad happy enough to say those two words... Never. Tell me, does it still hurt?_

_Confession 5: There are three words in my vocabulary that if I were to put together, I'd be unable to speak. I'd freeze, and collapse to show the world exactly what is wrong with me. I know it will never go away unless I speak, and I know I will never feel secure of anything until I speak. Speaking is so hard at times, when you feel that if you open your mouth rumors will immediately ran out like lost puppies in search for shelter. Thinking about it makes me wanna run away, and shield myself from everything in this cruel world, but I can't. I have to wake up, get dressed, put on my face, and greet everything like a prat. Pretend everything is fine and move on. I laugh as I write this, because I know for a fact someone else feels the same way in my family. Though do I dare say the name, no. I will not betray a friend, the only friend I can trust in. All the thoughts in my mind scare me until I cry myself to sleep. I do not wish to have them, but I cannot get rid of them. They are glued there forever playing my memories like movies to remind me that Dad will never love me or be proud of me, but I will forever love him. You can't expect everything to fall at your feet. Fairytales don't exist, and happily ever after are hard to find. Everything dies in the end, so why can't I give up now? In a way I thank Dad, because if he wasn't there constantly yelling at me to be perfect, than I'd have nothing to be determined to get. If he would tell me those words, I'd have nothing I'd want to hear, but if he didn't yell and told me the words, then I'd have no problem in the first place. Funny thing that is. The thing that is driving me insane is the same thing that is saving me from myself, the dark, dark depths of my mind._

_Five confessions and I feel that a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. If I would have known that this helped, I would have did it along time ago. I know, somehow down in my heart I will end up forgiving Dad and accepting life that is given to me. But I know that even now- ten years later- you still crave for the two words, and you still feel lost and cold and numb. You may try to say you don't, but it's there in the back of your mind. You'll read this letter, and cry, and think about just how insane you are. Your thirteen-year-old self wrote you in a letter just to make sure you stay wounded. I want to be positive that you never forget me. Never brush me off to the side, because I am right here. I am the one controlling your mind. He is still there, being the terrible father he has always been. And you are there, drowning in pure misery pleading to be helped out. I'm ready to write you the two words I do not dare to speech, because if I haven't spoke them yet, then well, we are in for an interesting life. _

_I need help? How about you?_

_Are you strong enough to say it yet?_

_Sincerely, _

_Me._

_Molly _

I felt hot tears sting my dry eyes, I looked up weakly at Dad, who stared back at me. More tears came alive, as I saw glistening, wet dashes along his cheeks. He had read it. He now knew the hatred I felt and the confusion I felt. My secrets were out, and I wasn't sure whether if was a good or bad thing. I stared back down at the letter for a bit longer, before whipping my tears, and staring hopelessly back at Dad. He was moving this time, walking towards me. He had his arms stretched out, and I knew exactly what for. I got up from my desk, and quickly walk over to him. We hugged for the first true time I remembered recently. I sobbed praying that everything would soon come to an end. Dad kissed my forehead, and whipped away some of my tears behind saying,

"I never wanted you to feel that way. I never knew you didn't want the life I was trying to push you into. I-I should have been a better father, to you and Lucy. I shouldn't put forth my work ahead of my family. You girls meant the world to me, along with your mother." He kissed my forehead once more, and smiled down at me.

My answer for before had been answered, he could smile, which made me smile back. I nodded weakly, "I should have spoke out more."

Dad shook his head, "No, Molly, I should have known by the signs."

The room fell mostly silent except for the exception of sniffling and breathing. Thirteen-year-old Molly was inside my head, and she knew I was still afraid. I was a coward, and I wasn't going to admit anything. I needed to say the words, and right now was the perfect time. I needed to hear myself tell him, or I was going to go nuts.

"Daddy," I shut my eyes tightly, before forcing the next words out, "I n-need h-hel, help."

Dad smiled, and chuckled. He put his arm around my shoulder, and began leading me to the door.

"Molly, I think we all do... Somewhere deep inside there is a younger us, screaming and crying to be heard. Though we all are adults now, many of us still have that feeling, you were just lucky enough to write yourself to make sure you remembered to fix it. Others learn from the ones we love," Dad spoke, as he rested his head against mine. As we began walking out of the room, I swore I heard him whisper, "Like me..." But I disregarded it for the fact that he was leading me away from my work.

"Dad, where are we going?"

He smiled and thought for a moment, "Well, I don't know about you, but I feel like I need to settle some business..."

I looked up at him strangely, "With who?"

Dad disregarded my question, but instead ask another.

"I believe we should stop and visit Granddad Weasley... Don't you?"

I nodded and followed him over to the floo. I never made the connection till after I looked over the event multiple times. Dad hadn't forgotten to answer my question, nor did he neglect it. He had answered it, by doing something, which I knew was painful for him. Going to see Granddad and confessing whatever the younger him was screaming out about. I never asked to know why, and respected his decision. It wasn't any of my business to mess with in the first place, it was just Dad's.

I may never hear the two words I pray for, but I know that he truly feels that way. Dad just has a complication expressing his feelings. As long as somehow, he feels it and I know it, I guess I'll be okay. It is not as sweet as hearing it, but maybe someday will come, and those words will slip his lips. But who knows, it may take another letter to myself in ten years to happen. Anything is possible for the Weasley bunch, we have said it all along.

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><p><strong>Did you like it? I hope so! I like it. I feel though my ending could be better, but I can't figure out how.<strong>

**Please review, reviews mean the world to me.**

**Though if you do not like it, comment and tell me why. I'd appriciate it, so I can fix it so people do enjoy it more. :)**

**-randomgirloutthere110 **

**It's much darker than most Molly fanfics. **


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